The passage spiraled down through cold stone, the air growing thick with damp earth and the ghost of old smoke. Caelan moved by instinct now, the frailty of his body held at bay by something colder and more determined than mere adrenaline. The Primordial Codex pulsed in his chest with each heartbeat, a second organ made of metaphysical hunger.
Let them come.
The thought had become a mantra. In the darkness behind his eyes, he could still see the Remark floating in ancient script: Ascension Fodder. He was not a person to the great houses of this world—he was a resource. A living elixir that could bypass decades of training and bloodline cultivation.
Good. Predators who saw prey often missed the trap.
Seraphine halted at a rusted iron grate, her blade sliding between the bars with practiced silence. "The smuggler's tunnel collapsed here during the last border war. We'll need to climb down into the cisterns."
"How many?" Caelan whispered.
"Twenty feet. The water's stagnant but shallow." She turned, her eyes widening as she took him in. "Your Highness... your skin."
Caelan glanced at his hands. In the faint glow of phosphorescent moss, the spiral patterns of Orochi's bloodline were visible, faintly luminous, cycling through impossible geometries beneath his flesh. His grip tightened. The Codex had warned him: Atavism. The bloodline was manifesting physically, and he had no way to hide it yet.
"It doesn't matter. We move."
They descended through the broken grate, Caelan's new agility serving him well. The cistern was a cathedral of dripping echoes, its vaulted ceiling lost to darkness. The water came to his waist, cold and foul, but the Constitution boost from Orochi's Spiral kept his teeth from chattering.
As they waded through the black water, Caelan's Temporal Sight flickered involuntarily. Ghost-images overlapped his vision—Seraphine drawing her blade three seconds from now, a rat dropping from the ceiling, his own hand reaching for something in the water. The Tier 1 ability was raw, uncontrolled, feeding him probabilities he couldn't fully process.
Primordial Codex – Orochi's Spiral [ATAVISM] – Level 0 [560/3000]
The record hovered at the edge of his perception. He needed more Soul Points. The guard upstairs had granted him 25, activating the bloodline had cost 1000, and now he had 560 remaining? No—that was progress toward Level 1. The math clicked into place. Each soul was both currency and experience.
A body floated face-down in the water ahead. Seraphine's blade came up immediately, but Caelan's hand stopped her.
"Wait."
It was a palace guard, one of theirs. The livery was Voralis black and gold, now stained with mud and darker things. He'd died from a crossbow bolt through the throat, probably during the initial assault.
"He was loyal," Seraphine said, her voice tight.
"Then his death can serve the house one final time."
Before she could stop him, Caelan placed his palm on the corpse's forehead. The Aether flowed, cold and electric. The body's mouth opened, and a wisp of silver light emerged, weaker than the first but unmistakable.
Soul Harvester – Level 0 [18/1000]
Soul Point: 43.0749
The corpse collapsed into ash, dissolving into the water. Seraphine's blade was at his throat before he could exhale.
"What are you?" she hissed. Her eyes were wild, darting between his face and the spirals on his hands.
Caelan met her gaze. The Temporal Sight showed him three futures: she strikes, she flees, she bends the knee. The probabilities flickered like candle flames.
"The same boy you swore to protect," he said, his voice carrying an edge that wasn't there before. "Just no longer willing to die quietly."
The blade wavered. "Soul magic is forbidden. The Five Families execute practitioners on sight."
"The Five Families just murdered my father and poisoned me for eleven years." Caelan stepped forward, letting the steel kiss his throat. "Your oath is to Voralis, Seraphine. House Voralis is two people now. Will you serve, or will you join the ash?"
The moment stretched. Then the blade withdrew.
"My oath is to you," she said, and the capital letter was audible. "But if you've become a monster, I'll be the one to put you down when the time comes."
"Fair enough."
They moved deeper into the cisterns. The tunnel exit would put them near the Hollow District's edge, where the war refugees lived in squalor. Perfect anonymity.
As they walked, Caelan accessed the Codex again. The soul of the loyal guard had been weaker—18 points instead of 25. Perhaps decay or distance from death mattered. He filed the data away.
Records Available for Purchase:
- Scion of Dawn – Level 0 [500/500]
- Scion of Dusk – Level 0 [500/500]
- Orochi's Spiral Level 1 – [Requires 3000]
- Soul Harvester Level 1 – [Requires 1000]
He had 43 points. Not enough for anything yet. But the Hollow District would have bodies. War casualties, plague victims, the forgotten dead. It was a morbid thought, but Caelan found it didn't bother him as much as it should have. The Frozen Soul passive was working.
"Your Highness," Seraphine said, her voice low. "We have a problem."
They'd reached the tunnel exit. Moonlight filtered through a grate, but shadows moved beyond it—men in Kuron colors, searching the refugee shacks methodically.
"They're looking for survivors," Seraphine whispered. "For you."
Caelan's Temporal Sight flared. He saw them kicking in doors, saw a child run and get cut down, saw the commander—a man in silver armor with the Kuron serpent on his breastplate—turn toward their grate.
The ghost-images collapsed into the present. "Six men. One Rift State commander, five Mortal State soldiers."
Seraphine stared at him. "How could you possibly—"
"New skill." He flexed his hand, watching the spirals shift. "I have a plan. It requires you to trust me."
"To do what?"
"To let them find us."
The look she gave him was flat. "Absolutely not."
"The commander is Rift State. If I harvest him, I gain... what? A thousand points? More?" Caelan's smile felt razor-sharp on his borrowed face. "They're not hunting a predator, Seraphine. They're hunting a dying child. Let them make that mistake."
She was silent for a long moment. Above, the commander barked an order. They were running out of time.
"One condition," she said finally. "If you're wrong, I kill them all and we run. No harvesting, no risks. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Caelan settled into the cold water, letting his body go limp. He forced his breathing shallow, calling up the wasting sickness the original owner had lived with for years. The Temporal Sight showed him the future—the grate opening, hands grabbing him, the commander's face sneering down at the pathetic prince.
Let them come.
The grate screeched open. Rough hands dragged him into the moonlight. A boot rolled him onto his back, and he looked up into the face of his father's killer.
"Well, well," the commander said, his voice thick with contempt. "The little worm crawled out of the palace after all."
Caelan let his eyes flutter weakly. Inside, the Codex blazed with anticipation.
Soul Harvester – Level 0 [0/1000]
The commander's soul would fill it many times over. And when it did, House Voralis would have its first weapon....